Bleed Me Dry
by Scarred Ocelot
Summary: It all started with a chip. Now trapped in a shallow grave, this is where his rebirth begins; creating the man whose decisions will either enslave or free the people of the Mojave.Follow him as he tries to uncover his past. Warning M/M in later Chapters.
1. Prologue

A/N #1 – **Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the game Fallout: New Vegas, not anything to do with the Fallout series. It belongs to Bethesda and Obsidian games, but thanks to the series for giving me such awesome ideas.

A/N #2 –**Summary:** It all started with a small chip and a simple delivery. But life is never simple considering that his game rigged from the start. Trapped in a deathbed atop a cemetery in the Mojave, a shallow grave, this is where his rebirth begins; creating the man whose decisions will either enslave or free the inhabitants of the Mojave wasteland. Follow him as he tries to uncover his past while coping with the events of the present but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_War…War never changes…_

The rest of Mojave express's building was empty except for Nash, a fan spinning idly above the new patron that had walked or rather rolled into the Courier outpost. The main room was small, wallpaper peeling like cracked skin while hundreds of years of neglect showed its colors. Chairs rested against the wall opposite the counter but the robot balanced on one wheel made no such move towards them.

On the screen that displayed the machines face rested the cocky smile of a cowboy in his rattan black hat. After exchanging words with the southern accented robot, the man behind the counter scratched the fuzz he had left on top of his head that hardly constituted hair.

"Six Packages?" Jonathan Nash asked, his old features on his sun tanned skin scrunching up like an old leather belt. The man was getting up in his years but he had to double check that he had heard the robot correctly. Nash stood behind the counter, one elbow resting on the dilapidated wood and the other hand scratching information down about the requested deliveries. He was a bit shocked at the large request but even more so by the compensation that would be given to the couriers when their job was completed.

No one in the Mojave had that many caps except for big shots in the New Vegas Strip. Turning around for a moment he pushed around old mechanical parts and nick-knacks sat with paper tags attached by wire, scrawl all over with the legibility of chicken scratch. Each one waiting for a courier to return and deliver it to its prospective owner.

The robot handed over six small boxes wrapped tightly in old paper and tied with what looked a lot like worn shoe string. In the wasteland it wasn't really the presentation so long as you got the goods. Each had a label but Nash's eyes only caught the names of three packages before having to look back to the Robot cowboy. There was Dice, a chess piece, and a gambling chip; such a strange array of simple objects made the job odd but since they weren't weapons or messages it saved him a lot of headache worrying about the couriers getting picked off.

"That everything?" Nash asked assigning the last courier before going over to the Vikki and Vance Casino where most of the couriers rested. The Robot tipped it's large body and screen a bit before looking back up at the man.

"Thank you kindly Partner, I believe that's it. Make sure that these make it to their destination and I have no qualms with returning your kind favor." Nash snorted and chuckled to himself, this wasn't a favor, it was just business. With that the robot spun around, opened the door, and left without another word. Nash sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, placing the packages behind the counter, he walked out of the building and across the battered and broken street to the Casino.

Pushing on the double doors, a few heads at the slot machines turned. Many smiled some just grunted a gruff hello; after getting around to the remaining couriers downing whiskey and Big Horner meat he just had one last courier.

"Ulysses, got a job for you." The Jamaican looking man with dark brown skin, chocolate dreads , and a scruffy beard and mustache. The man blinked and clapped his hand tightly with Nash, they both released each other's grip and sat down. No one spoke as they listened to the radio singing it's songs from centuries past. Each dulcet note was met with the tap of a foot or a snap of a finger by the men, it was a moment of respite from the harsh world outside the old casino.

"So what kinda job are we talking about?" Ulysses asked, taking his second shot of vodka for the day. Nash tugged a small manual sized book from his breast pocket and set it bef

ore the courier, his fingers dancing over the edges of the pages till he reached the order page that the robot had made. Ulysses traced the page with his finger mouthing the words as he read the words. At the bottom of the prospective courier list the man paused, his eyes growing wide then narrowing sharply as he read the name over and over again.

His eyebrows fell together as he sat back, lightly shaking his head and murmuring under his breath things that Nash couldn't quite catch. Taking a deep breath, Ulysses sat forward again and rested his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled before his mouth. Nash tilted his head, obviously the other had been surprised by the name or rather shocked. Even his dark skin seemed to pale as he watched the man's hazel eyes.

"Nash, I want you to be honest…that name…under Courier Six, it that for real? I mean is that guy really alive and kicking?" Ulysses seemed highly skeptical and glanced down at the book with nervous eyes. Nash frowned for a moment but soon hid the expression.

"Course he is, I don't keep dead men on my payroll." The other man nodded and stood, pushing in his seat slowly so it wouldn't grind across the dirty floor.

"I'm gonna have to turn you down on this one old friend," he murmured, eyes lost in thought. Nash sat back and let out a whistle.

"You sure? It's real good money and if you get everything squared there's a bonus for you." Ulysses shook his head, still staring off into space.

"Yes, I'm sure. Let Courier Six take the package in my stead. He can…handle it." With that Ulysses turned and walked out, passing Primm Slim (The Protectron Guide with a cowboy hat on his head sensor) on his way through the door. Nash's aged eyes followed after him, suspicion and confusion bubbling in his gut as he headed over to one of the Bar stools, A young man with short, spiky black hair that only hung to the bottom of his ear sat and tinkered with an old 9 millimeter pistol. His eyes were a sharp charcoal that seemed clearer than water in the Mojave.

"Courier?" he asked, not remembering the kids name from the booklet and not all too thrilled about tugging it out to thumb the pages and find a name he'd probably forget in the next few minutes. The man stopped disassembling the weapon and swapping parts to look at Nash.

"I've got a job for you, delivering a chip."

The long stretch of the I-15 was lonely enough without the whipping dust and rolling tumbleweeds. The courier continued walking, his pack slung lazily over his shoulder as he examined the box he had been given to deliver, the box itself was no bigger than a deck of cards. Curiously he turned the box over and over between his fingers, tugging off the shoe string and paper covering.

He was just on the outskirts of Goodsprings, a quaint little hovel of a town with their only main attraction a bar and a semi-working pool table. He didn't mind the place, It was a lot safer sleeping in town than it was along the north stretch of the I-15 where Khans, Raiders, Cazadors and Radscorpians owned the land.

His sharp eyes flicked from the town and back to the box, it was a simple off white and dirt stained box with an easy to remove cover. Unconsciously, he checked around, if the head of the Mojave express knew he was peeking in on the package it could mean the end of his job. A shiver tremored up his spine, while he didn't want to lose his job he just wanted to know.

What was so tiny but so important that it would mean a payment of 2000 caps, that'd be enough money to get you in the Vegas strip. With the boxes top discarded, his glance rested upon something that in his mind was anti-climatic.

"A chip?" he grumbled in a smooth baritone. "A simple gambling chip?" he tossed the box in his pack and played with the simple chip. It's design was unusual with the golden numbers 38 on one side and a tall well lit tower on the other side. 38? _Did that mean the Lucky 38 casino?_ He sighed and tucked the object in his leather armor's pants pocket, leave it to some nut to make him walk all the way from Primm to New Vegas just to deliver a single gambling experience.

The sky above began to darken as he made his way through the town and to Trudy's well known bar, two men in leather bikers jackets sat on opposing sides of the door while two other goons rested on the porch. Easy Pete, a tender old man with a beard as white as snow, was nowhere to be seen.

"Looky here boys," a man with an orange Mohawk and green bandana teased, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. His buddy, a black man with the same green bandana and a long mustache, on the other side of the door chimed in. Trying to sound as smart as their half whit boss making him the second in command.

"Hehe, yea boys! Looky here! Listen loser," the second in command stood from leaning on the building and walked uncomfortably close to the courier and sneered in his face. "Our boss wants something you have bug!" he jeered and poked his dirty fingers in the courier's chest but the man didn't move nor dignify them with anything. Bored, the leader flicked his hand to one of the other unnamed lackeys who came from behind the courier and bashed him across the back of the head with a shovel.

The man didn't even shout, he was unconscious before his face even hit the dirt. The group of Khans circled like vultures until a man with a checkered suit stepped between them and parted their ranks. If anyone were to compare the checkered suit man to someone it'd be Bugsy Siegel from the kick start Vegas of the past.

"Gloves over his hands, tie his wrists and ankles." He commanded calmly crouching next to the unconscious body, he reached into the man's pocket and tugged out the chip with the golden 38 emblazoned on it. A wide smile spread across his face as he stood and began walking towards the Goodsprings Cemetery.

"Up this way," he motioned towards the graves at the top of the large hill. "We'll dig him a grave and they'll never know that he's new." The leader and his second of the Khan's quickly grabbed the body and followed after the checkered suit man, the remaining men sitting around the bar to stop anyone from interfering or getting to inquisitive.

At the top of the hill, the man with the checkered suit flicked out his Zippo lighter and snapped a flame to life to light the cigarette pinched between his teeth. "Can you dig any slower?" he growled the man in the shallow grave no more than three feet deep but big enough to fit a body into. The shovel clinked into the rocks and dirt as the Khan digging stuck the tool in the ground and glared.

"Why don't you dig then?" Another of the Khans stepped between the two and held up his hands.

"Hey the graves deep enough, he'll be dead and no one's gonna care about this nameless asshole anyways!" Tempers simmered for a few more moments before they all calmed and waited for the man to wake, the Khans didn't understand why the man in the suit didn't just shoot and bury him. All he said was it was a gentleman's way to die, the Khan's rolled their eyes at each other and waited jolting when the courier stirred.

His head was pounding, heart throbbing loudly in his ears as blood pulsed wildly through his veins trying to hurriedly bring him back to life. As his eyes rolled around in their sockets, the courier got his orientation and starred at his attackers and soon to be murderers. He shivered a bit, there was no law in the Mojave and no one to care about him; no family, friends, significant other even though he'd had his fair share of interests. The Khan leader of the group turned to the man in the suit and growled.

"You got what you came for, so pay up!" The courier tugged at the gloves and ropes tightly hooked around his wrists.

"Your crying in the rain pally," the suit man snorted with a smirk on his face. Looking to their prisoner he sucked in another puff on his cigarette, eyes glowing brightly. The courier looked up in time to see him toss the nicotine stick and snuff it out under his boot.

"Time to cash out," the suited man said, almost tired. The second in command Khan threw his arms out to the side and snapped.

"Will you get it over with?" The courier began to shake a bit looking between the beefy Khans that were probably high on psycho and the New Vegas man in the black and white suit. Mr. Suit as the courier now called him, held up a finger and hissed through his teeth at the Khan his blue eyes sparkling as they met with the courier's charcoal hues.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking in the eye, but I ain't a fink, dig?" he said dropping his hand and reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He tugged out the chip and pinched it between his pointer finger and thumb. "You've made your last run kid, sorry you got twisted up in this scene." He frowned as if almost sorrowful for what was about to happen next, his hand replacing the chip and instead coming out with a silver shining weapon in his grasp. The courier gasped a bit but held his tongue, he had enough dignity not to plead for his life when they made it evidently clear they were going to kill him.

Mr. Suit continued on speaking as he looked over the beautifully engraved pistol. "From where you're sitting it must look like an 18 karat run of bad luck," he leveled the pistol on the courier's forehead and mouthed something that his eyes didn't catch, too busy focused on the gun. The Khans smiled and one rubbed his palms, finally happy to be rid of their prisoner.

"Truth is," Mr. Suit said in a sigh, "The game was rigged from the start." A Flash of white and orange light engulfed the Courier's view as the bullet sped towards him and penetrated his skull. His body slumped back, no longer struggling against the restraints. The Khan's quickly dumped the body in the whole and began tossing dirt over his still breathing form, blood pouring from the wound on his head and caking with the dirt around his face. Satisfied, Mr. Suit and the rest of the Khan's took off out of Goodsprings, eager to leave all their mess behind while they moved for a place with a greater chance of anonymity.

Yet even under the dirt of the shallow grave the Courier was still alive, barley but he clung desperately to life while a large black shape moved to the haphazardly buried body. A light flickered over the fresh turned earth and mechanical three pronged claws grabbed a hand that still protruded from the dirt. The Robot tugged and wheeled back, dragging the almost lifeless body out. Quickly he took the man into his arms and rolled down the hill, balancing on his one wheel. The screen with the face of a cowboy wearing a rattan hat looking towards the doctor's house, the Courier would be safe there.

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><p>AN #3- Please review and let me know what you think of this, I'm hoping to make this a very big series that spans all the entire campaign of the game and even side quests too. Depending on the reception of the prologue will determine how fast I get Chapter 1 out.


	2. Ain't That a Kick in the Head

A/N#1- The courier finally wakes up to find himself in the care of an honest doctor, suddenly realizing he can't remember what happened except for a few select moments. When he finally leaves the clinic and enters Goodsprings it seems trouble has again already found him.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_Ain't that a Kick in the Head..._

At first all he heard was the ringing in his ears, like a soft wind chime tousled by a breeze. The light throbbing of blood began to make his skull ache as he groaned and rolled over in the bed. Next to the injured man on the bed sat an old doctor resting comfortably in a half destroyed doctor hadn't wanted to believe the robot, Victor, when it brought this man to him.

Shot once in the skull and still alive and kicking, as if the wastes weren't done with the man. Looking over him Doc Mitchell knew he was a traveler, tanned skin but parts of his skin where clothes covered was still white as a new born babe's skin. It had taken him him the whole day just to perform the surgery on this traveler and remove the bullet, being very careful not to cause any more damage while repairing all that he could.

This man was lucky, the Doc thought, though he would be able to come out of the medicine induced coma with full cognitive functions. Only a small pock mark on his face would tell what had happened but it was now covered by raven black hair. The man on the bed whined softly, his eyes beginning to flutter as his fingers twitched and gripped the ragged sheets he lay on.

The Doc leaned forward and placed a the back of his hand upon the man's forehead earning a sharp gasp of air in response. The man widened his eyes and the blurry world streamed through his hues, a fan rotating above making odd spinning shadows while he tried to blink away the flashes of light and blur.

"You're awake, how 'bout that." The Doc commented with a smile and leaned back, watching the other come back to consciousness. The man winced and clenched his teeth, holding his head as he sat up, earning him a soft aid from Doc Mitchell.

"Whoa, easy there. Easy. You've been out cold a couple 'a days. Why don't you take a moment, get your bearings." The man wobbled before managing to swing his legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing across the cracked and dried out wood flooring. The ceiling he had been staring at moments ago was no better, small fissures appearing from centuries of strain. Still hazy eyes peered at the doctor, confused and wary. He licked his dry lips and managed to form a few words that confirmed the doctors steady hand in surgery.

"Why...where am I? Who...are you..?" his voice was hoarse, cracking a few times from lack of use over the past few days. The doc scratched the back of his neck and sighed, if this man could survive a gunshot to the head, still thinking and speaking clearly, he would have no trouble surviving whatever the wastes had for him.

"Names Doc Mitchell, son." he twanged in a half worn southern accent, his eyes telling that he had aged past his years. "Right now your in my house which serves as a makeshift clinic for the town of Goodsprings." The guy nodded, he didn't look a day over twenty five obviously still new to whatever had gotten to him on the night of his near murder. "Well since your speaking clearly, you seem to be doing better..." though he noticed the man massaging his temples. He'd probably have a headache for a few days. The man looked over the Doctor who called himself Mitchell, he couldn't remember a thing except a man talking to him in the middle of the night, his hands bound, and a chip...something was seriously important about a chip. He growled and ran a hand over his forehead, then all the memories lead to was a loud gunshot and a flash...suddenly nothing but the cold black abyss.

"I want to start running diagnostics on you, first let's start with something simple. How 'bout your name, can you give me that?" The man blinked and locked eyes momentarily with the doc before nodding slowly. He bit his lip to contain another hiss of pain, his eyes looking around the simple home/clinic while his name bubbled from his lips.

"My names Lorne, Lorne Romanoivch." he muttered, his tongue feeling prickly while he coughed to clear some of the roughness from his throat. The Doc nodded over at Lorne and scooted his chair, creating a high pitched scraping sound that both the men winced at.

"Can't say that's the name I would have pegged for you, but who am I to judge?" the Doc smirked at his patient. "Now I hope you don't mind, I had to go rooting around in your noggin to get all the bits and pieces from the bullet out. I take pride in my needle work but you need to tell me if you feel any lasting pain..." he paused and blinked. Lorne rubbed his head and sighed, sitting back as the ache in his head dulled to an occasional spasm.

"I'm good Doc...considering what I lived through. Do you have a mirror though...I wanna see the damage." A pained expression crossed his face, he could just picture how disfigured he was gonna look. While he had been pretty handsome before he feared what he might resemble now...perhaps a mole rat. That made him chuckle as the Doc handed him a dirty mirror to examine his face with, the glass a bit fogged from the sweltering heat. Lorne moved to brush the glass off with his sleeve only to realize he was only in a pair of boxers. His cheeks flushed pink as the Doc noticed the man's discomfort.

"I'm sorry 'bout that, your clothes were covered in so much dirt and blood...I couldn't maintain a very sterol environment to operate." Lorne nodded, it made sense, but he still felt goosebumbs raise across his skin at his almost nudity in front of the stranger. He wasn't afraid of people seeing him naked, it was just awkward that he was barely clothed in a strangers house hardly remembering anything to do with his past. Lorene knew that the doctor was a good man and hand't done anything, though he could recall hearing about stranger stories that had happened to others.

Returning his attention to the mirror, Lorne gazed over his face and let out a heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing gently. Still the same rough but masculine features with knowledgable but untrusting eyes, he had taken a sever blow to his ability to trust anyone after leaving...He looked up, after leaving...where had he left? A hotel? A...casino? Yes that was it...a casino but where? His brows dipped together and he frowned setting the mirror aside on the bed.

"How'd I do?" The Doc asked looking a bit concerned, though Lorne knew it was unwarranted. Scratching the light stubble on his chin, he gave a soft smirk and nodded his head lightly.

"You did fine Doc, long as I don' look like a Deathclaw I think I'll do just fine." He knew he'd need a shave, a shower, and as his growling stomach reminded him...a nice hot meal.

"Good, I'm just glad I got everything right...or at least the stuff that matters." The Doc rubbed the back of his neck with his rough hands and looked away from Lorne. "Well, I guess there's no sense in keeping you in bed anymore." Lorne looked up and steadied his hand on either side of his hips, he just wanted to get off the bed and stretch out his unused muscles. "Let's see if we can get you on your feet," Doc stood and leaned down, hooking an arm around the courier and helping him up off the worn sheets. As Lorne put weight on his feet for the first time in a few days blood rushed to his skull making him dizzy and light headed, the world spinning for a second as the Doc held onto him.

"Feel like I'm recovering from a hang over..." Lorne groaned blinking away the sudden feeling of nausea that made him almost dry heave in the Doctors arms. Finally after a minute or two of standing, the Doc released him and took a few steps back. After getting his vitals checked over, he was handed back his leather armor which he quickly tugged on after wobbling a few times while trying to balance on one foot.

"Good, why don't you walk over to the other side of the room where that vigor tester machine is. That should give us a good sense of how you should do out in the wastes." Lorne sighed, looking around the room and getting a better scope of what was in there. An operating table with many cleaned utensils sat in the far corner hidden by a wall and a hanging blanket half eaten by moths. "Take it slow now, this ain't a race," the Doc warned in a motherly fashion. Lorne nodded. "I'm fine Doc, if a shot to the head didn't kill me what will?"

The floor boards creaked each time he took a step making him wonder if the house wasn't just going to fall apart before him. It was only a couple quick strides and he was standing over the Vigor Tester, a series of knobs buttons, and a joystick showed him what to do. While messing with the machine, Doc Mitchell moved to his side reading the results as he went. When Lorne had finished, the doctor patted his shoulder.

"Looks like your stronger than what I thought you were, stubborn as a Big Horn too. Now we know your vitals are fine but that doesn't mean that bullet didn't leave you nuttier than a Brahmin herder. I want you to sit down so that I can get a sense for your psychological health." Lorne looked at Doc Mitchell and shook his head.

"Listen Doc...I'll always be grateful for what you have done to me dragging me from wherever you found me and caring for me but...there are things I need to find out. Who shot me in the head and why?" The doctor frowned but nodded, this guy seemed like he could handle himself well enough. "Alright," he conceded to the courier, moving into a small room just off the hallway and coming back with a small back of things.

"I didn't rescue you, theres a local robot that hangs around the tame. The metal fella's name is Victor...he might be where you want to start, if your looking to find the men who shot you." Tugging a small pistol and its holster from the bag, he handed it to Lorne who seemed to visibly relax when he was armed. He also pulled on a pair of leather boots and authority styled sunglasses.

"Those were all on you when Victor brought you in," he passed the courier a small paper note and gave a slightly sheepish smile. "I hope you don't mind I gave the note a look to hoping to find next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip." Lorne jerked his head up remembering the chip in his hands. The numbers 38 and the tower...he was headed...headed where?

Growling at his lack of the memory he put the note in his pocket and tossed his bag, with all of his ammunition and supplies, over his shoulder. Ready to discover just what had happened and who wanted him dead, maybe even a little revenge. The Idea sent chills up his spine and made his eyes glow with sadistic thoughts. "Thanks Doc, for everything. I know I probably wasn't the best of company since I was comatose and all." Both the men chuckled as the courier shook the doctors hand.

Lorne walked towards the door only to be stopped again as the Doc pushed something into his hands. He looked down, a wrist gauntlet...no a pipboy, he remembered them from old photos and journals about life in the vault. The pipboy 3000 was supposed to help with inventory, maps, quests, and generally anything the user needed. Some people described it as a personal computer on your wrist but Lorne had never been close enough to one to actually determine that for himself.

"Listen, if you're headed back out there, you ought to have this. I grew up in one of them vaults made before the war. We all got one." Lorne could see the memories of the past flooding into the older mans eyes and wondered what he might have seen. Was the Mojave any different in the past, when the NCR and the Legion weren't trying to rip the lands in two... Doc shook his head and dug his hands deep into his pockets, finding his voice again.

"It ain't much use to me know but you might want such a thing after what you've been through. I know what it's like having something taken from you..." The Doc trailed off, his voice solemn and eyes hazed with regret. Lorne felt sorry for the man but from that look on his face there was nothing that could be done about it. He nodded and slipped on the pipboy, it fit perfectly and hardly weighed more than a feather. The backlight on the device flickered on and the screen instantly inventoried all of the items he carried while marking his position on the glowing blue map.

"Thanks Again Doc, I'd be dead if it weren't for you. But right now I have some business that needs some tying up, and perhaps a few people who need a good kick in the head." Lorne cracked his knuckles and placed a hand over his 9 mm pistol, just thirsting for when he would find the men who shot him.

"Don't mention, it's what I'm here for. Oh, before you leave town be sure to stop in at the Saloon and see Sunny Smiles. She'll help you in whatever ways she can, she's a good girl with a big heart...plus an even bigger attitude. Other folks, might help you there too. Lastly, you ever get hurt out there..don't hesitate to come back. I'll fix you up, just try not to get yourself killed again." Lorne nodded and moved his hand to the doorknob, thinking that for a split second the door would just fall off its rusted hinges. Instead the door opened normally and a blast of warm desert air tickled his face, a very fine welcome back into the world.

He stepped out, shut the door, then turned to observe the town of Goodsprings laid out below. Just down the cracked and broken pavement of an old street was the Prospectors Saloon that Doc Mitchell had mentioned. It would be a few minute walk to the place, so he didn't bother himself with worrying about time. The sun was just barley reaching the height of its climb into the crystal blue sky. Fissures of heat rose off the baked earth between the scattered houses and ruins that remained in the town, the only other recognizable place was an old gas station further up the hill but Lorne wasn't to concerned with the abandoned shop. Running his fingers through his hair, he set off down the hill at a semi leisurely pace, when he reached the Saloon he stepped up on the front porch and noticed an old man. Easy Pete...his memory told him, the old man offered him a smile.

"Welcome youngster, 'sthere anything Easy Pete can do for you?" The laid back old man continued to shift back and forth in his rocking chair, eyes focused off down the road to the south of Goodsprings like an old bloodhound.

"Thanks but I'm fine, is Sunny in though...Doc Mitch said that I should talk to her..." Recognition flashed behind Pete's eyes and made Lorne wonder if the whole town knew about him. Pete shut his eyes and scratched his ear before responding in his always understanding tone.

"Sure, Sunny's in playing pool and listen-in' to the juke box. Cheyenne will probably be with her so don't get to worried by the rambunctious pup." Lorne nodded and thanked the man, pushing open the weary door and entering the Saloon. Just as Pete had said, Sunny was across the room, pool stick in her grasp as the cue ball clacked against a few other worn pool balls. Her dog, Cheyenne, was resign comfortably on a old leather chair that looked like a cat had been clawing on.

The dog perked an ear and opened an eye letting off a soft growl, Sunny hushed the animal and made another shot, looking up and smiling at Lorne. Just as he was about to speak to her, shouting came from the bar area. His brows tipped together and he took a few steps back, looking into the bar side of the Saloon. Two patrons sat in there booth, one dosing off the alcohol and the other cowering back in his seat. A woman with fiery eyes and her hands on her cocked hips was squaring off with a man in blue and black armor, white letters on the back of the armor saying NCRCF. The man was growling at the woman while he pointed a 10 mm pistol into her gut, the woman looked as though she were just receiving a weather report...stoic and calm.

"I'm being nice!" The man snapped and thrust the gun a bit harder into the woman who seemed to take no real notice. "Now you listen here, if you don't hand over Ringo...I'm gonna go and get my friends, then we'll burn this town to the ground. Got it?" The man was dark skinned sweating and gritting his teeth as if he were staring down a rattle snake. The woman scowled ever-so lightly and narrowed her gaze, as though ready to slap the man across the face.

"We'll keep that in mind, now if your not going to buy anything...Get out!" The man retreated, holstering his pistol and shoving past Lorne who fell back into the wall.

"Asshole," he murmured under his breath as the Bartender and woman who'd just starred down the pistol walked up to him. A name tag on her dirty dress was etched with the name Trudy. She crossed her arms and looked him over, judging every detail and making Lorne's skin crawl. She sighed and nodded to him, walking back behind the bar and beginning to clean it off with a rag even though it wouldn't really clean the surface. She motioned for him to take a seat at the bar, his eyes flicked to the patrons and then noticed Sunny leaning in the entrance way from where she had been playing pool. The tanned girl gave him a nod and disappeared back into the room. Still wary he sat and leaned his elbows against the bar.

"Well you've been causing quite a stir, nice to finally meet you. I'm Trudy and welcome to the Prospectors Saloon." Lorne looked around at the fractured glass mirrors behind Trudy...it wasn't the most high class bar he'd been to but it had a homey feel and he liked the place instantly.

"Thank you, names Lorne...I'm a courier." While he wanted to ask questions about the man that shot him, the argument still hung before then both. "So what was that about?" he asked pointing a finger towards the door and then relaxing again. Trudy growled and tossed the rag into a sink that looked like it hadn't been working in ages, rust stains petrifying and eroding the metal.

"Looks like our town got dragged into something that we don't want anything to do with. A week ago, this trader guy name Ringo shows up and says he was attacked. That there were bad men after him and he needed to hide. We just figured he was still in shock, so we gave him a place to lay low. We didn't expect anyone to come after him." Lorne nodded and thumbed the safety on his pistol, it seemed this peaceful little hovel was now apart of something a whole lot bigger and messier than they wanted. It seemed like he was going to have to put off his hunt for answers until this issue with Ringo and the NCRCF man was finished. Maybe the townsfolk would be more likely to help him if he settled the incident. But he knew that before the day was out, that man and his friends would return and if the town wasn't ready...It'd be a massacre.

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><p>AN#2- Let me know what you think in the reviews...I might take peoples votes for what he should do...Help Joe Cobb and the Powder Gangers or Ringo and the People of Goodsprings, we'll see. Comments and constructive critiques are highly encouraged.

A/N#3- The next chapter will be a bit more action filled and gorey, but all this early set-up had to be said and done. Just laying the foundation for what will be an epic adventure.


	3. Back in the Saddle

**Chapter 2**

_"Unpredictable Self..."_

A/N#1- Hey everyone, I apologize for this being a long time coming. I took a faily trip to D.C and it thre off me getting this out in a periodic manner. The next Cahpter should be coming out much faster I promise! Again sorry, hope that the containted Fallout shenanagins helps make it all better...btw question at the bottom. Anwer, Read, and Review. Thank you very much.

Lorne sighed as he laid his head on the bar, he had a very important choice to make after going and meeting with this 'Ringo' guy. One...help the guy and the town of Goodsprings by getting rid of the Powder Gangers or...Help this Cobb guy, the Powder Gangers and screw over both Goodsprings and the people who had helped him. It made him growl...neither choice really helped him towards his goal of a revenge but it could set up connections to help him along the trip to wherever and whoever shot him. Trudy leaned over and tapped the bar in front of him, drawing his eyes up lazily to see her smiling softly.

She set a small glass in front of him and prompted him with a gresture. "It will help whatever your going through...it don't exactly have something for being shot in the head but I know this always helps travelers who blow on through my doors." Lorne grunted to her and took the drink, sipping at it distastefully before managing a smile. "Thanks Trudy, I know I haven't known you people for long but you've done more for me than I could ever repay you for...I'll help you with this Ringo issue. Promise." Trudy had her back to him and was cleaning glasses when she chuckled. "It means a lot..." she said curtly before Sunny Smiles took a seat next to him and ordered a Sunset Sasparilla from an old gold, brown bottle.

"Go and see Ringo..." she muttered so Trudy couldn't hear...We can discuss how I can help you later." Lorne gave her a half smile and shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know if before his shooting whether he was a nice guy or a bad guy, now was his chance to start over...clean slate. The chance of a life time to some people, to him it was an opportunity to play both sides of the game, everyone else here thought he was on there side.

He could used that, it made him smile and he stood. He left the saloon and trudged along the dried and cracked road up towards the Posidon Energy Gas Station. It was beat up, old, rusted and overall a nasty place. Lorne wished that he could have seen the place before the war, humming with drivers that wanted to fill up their cars, get a cold drink, and maybe a snack. Sad how nice things couldn't last, he thought with a bit of resignation and noticed how the garage attached to the building was filled with tires and other pieces of useless junk. Pitty there wasn't some car around that he could use to drive about the wastes but no, everything was by foot now. Biting his lip and he tried to calm his breathing and get his misplaced anger out of his system, the last thing he needed was to storm in on a man who was probably jumpy as a nightstalker.

Resting his hand on the doorknob and pushed the door in, his eyes caught sight of a figure plastered to the shadows of the buildings interior as he closed the door. The glint of a gun made his heart jump into his throat and throb at a frenzied pace, no, he wasn't going to die that easily. With speed he didn't know he hand, Lorne vaulted off the nearby clerks counter and over the mans head landing on the top of one of the store shelves pointing down his 9mm pistol to the back of the armed shadows skull. The man gasped softly to Lorne's smirk, while he wasn't sure how he knew to move in such an offensive way he knew playing ot off like he did gave him some power over whoever this person was.

"Easy there trigger happy," Lorne crooned. "What's with drawing a gun on me? Are you Ringo?" He sat perched on the shelf like an eagle, eyes glinting over it's prey, he could be kind and soft or cynical and deadly. He was like clay ready to be morally molded, so testing both sides of the fence to find who he felt most comfortable as...was only natural.. After all he knew nothing of his past and saw only revenge in his future. The man held up his hands in surrender, dropping his gun to the floor.

"Hey...hey easy, come on...I..uh..just..I" The man started as Lorne holstered his gun, this man was no threat, his tremoring muscles and fear pooled eyes screamed that fact loud and clear. He climbed down, standing before the man and gesturing kindly to pick up the weapon. "I'm...Ringo..." the man said as he quickly retrieved the gun, holstering it and holding an almost child-like innocene in his face. Lorned nodded and his face became an mask for emotions and feelings he was sure that would come up during this ordeal.

"Lorne..." he grunted, eyes filled with indifference knowing that Ringo was the one sturring up trouble for the entire town of Goodsprings, all the kind people that had been helping him out and had saved his life. "Tell me 'bout the mess you stuck yourself in." he said, sitting on the counter as Ringo sat on the floor next to the door...defintely wary.

Ringo nodded to him, running his fingers through greasy dark hair, eyes flicking back and forth as his mind tried to find where to begin.

"Alright, long story short, I pissed off a bunch of powder gangers and Joe Cobb is there leader. Basically he wants me dead, but he threatened some gruesome stuff if he catches me alive. Something about using my entrails as decorations, blowing up my organs and using them as party balloons along with his men taking a liking to me as there bitch." Ringo seemed disgusted but he laughed over the threats and managed to tug out a deck or torn dog-eared cards.

He began to place them out on the floor in a pattern Lorne recognized as solitaire. But from Ringo's description, he was liking helping the powder gangers less and less, nothing really seemed to be gained from helping them. Then again using a stomach as a balloon would be an interesting idea. Shaking his head, Lorne came back to reality.

"I came to help you and the town out. Sunny smiles promised me some aid and I'm sure that Doc Mitchell and Trudy will chip in. We can take down Cobb with a bit tactical know how, team work and firepower."

He gave a cheesy smile and snatched a pack of ciggaettes off the rack, popping the case open and stuffing the rest in his pockets. Putting the smoke between his lips, he growled at the realization of no lighter. Ringo nodded. "Yea...Alright...go get everyone rounded up. I'll gather my supplies and we'll meet up in the Saloon, plan from there." Ringo seemed to cheer up at the thought of Cobb and his problems disappearing. Lorne stood, pinching the smoke between his teeth and passing Ringo, the movement of his feet picking up the solitaire game that was a few moves away from being won.

He chuckled stepping out the door, shutting it and moving back down the road. The sudden flash of heat stung his eyes and made him recoil and whimper, it blinded him allowing the tight grip of two unknown men to wrapped around his arms. They quickly tied a blue piece of fabric over his eyes so there was no way of knowing where they were going. Lorne began to struggle as the men hissed at each other in whispers and a knife dug into his back.

"What the hell do you want with me?" He shouted, back arching away from the knife as cool air and shade reached his skin, they must be somewhere close to Goodsprings, he knew they hadn't gone that far. A mans sweaty palm slapped across his face sending needle like pricks and fires to flare on his face, causing Lorne to bite his lip just to hold in an angry snarl not wanting to dignify his captors with any sign of weakness. If they thought he was weak they'd just kill him easily and dump his body on the side of the road like carrion for the radscorpians.

"Keep your mouth shut!" A familiar voice snarled at him. Lorne's brow's dipped and he thought hard...where had he heard that voice? Somewhere in Goodsprings...where...Fuck! The memory flooded back, it was Cobb, the man who had shoved a pistol deep into Trudy's stomach. The man who was looking for Ringo and the all too infmaous powder ganger. A hand grabbed his jaw, the skin on his fingers scarred and rough, nails long and dirty from mistreatment. "You're gonna be answering any questions I have got it?" The knife moved from Lorne's back to his kidney, pricking his skin and making him flinch.

"Sure thing Cobb," Lorne said with a devious smirk. It seemed that Cobb hadn't been expecting getting recognized. The convict began to whisper angrily to a few of his other croneys until looking back to his kneeling prisoner.

"Your that brat from the Saloon who ran into me." he snapped finally remembering the man before him. Lorne nodded and rolled his head, letting a few of the joints pop while moving his wrist to find them bound tightly with muddy rope. "Well brat since we know you and you know where Ringo is, we want you to help us get this man...we promise to leave this shit on the wall town alone a'ight?" Lorne chuckled, bowing his head slightly and shaking it.

"As far as I remember," he replied smartly "You were the one who ran into me, and besides what makes you think I'm gonna help you?" The knife pushed through the top layer of his skin making blood being to pour from his armor. The blindfold was violently rioted from his eyes as he wheezed from the pain and flash of light suddenly engulfing his view. The slick warmth of booed ran down his armor and pooled about his knees, dying the leather he wore into a sickly chocolate brown.

"Because... Cobb sneered in his face while taking a fistful of Lorne's hair in his hands and wrenching his head back so that their eyes met. "If you don't I'm gonna make you full of holes and while your bleading out let my met have their way with you." Out of the corner of his eye Lorne noticed the men snickering and a few of them grinning and thrusting their hips forwards as an innuendo. A cold shiver ran down his spine and tied knots in his stomach.

"F..fine," Lorne said growling lowering his bound hands to catch a small shaving razor he hid in a pocket on his leg. Cobb didn't seem to notice as he let him go and leaned up to his men, "Who wants first dibs should he fail," his voice boomed and Lorne struck, lashing Cobb in the leg with the knife, cutting his bonds and taking off running. He noticed the blackish mettalic shimmer of his pistol on the ground and caught it as he ran, firing wildly behind his back as Cobb screamed and his men scrambled.

"Forget about me you idiots, get him!" Cobb managed in a throaty shout but Lorne had already made it down the road realizing he was north of Goodsprings and hurried into the Saloon, panting and holding his heaving chest. Sunny and Cheyenne looked up worry twisting the girls face as the dog began to bark.

"Sun...sunny...get...Trudy...everyone..." he managed through breaths. "Cobb and his gang...on the way...I managed to wound Cobb maybe others...I'll get Ringo." Sunny caught the gravity of the situation and got Trudy and most of the patrons around, it was late afternoon so the place was bustling with people looking for something good to eat along with a nice cold drink. Lorne spared no time, bolting out the Saloon door and seeing Easy Pete.

"Listen ol' man, I'd advise getting inside, theres gonna be one hell of a showdown here." Pete merley nodded keeping his aloof expression on his face as he moved inside, Lorne already bolting off to the Posidon Energy Gas Station to fetch Ringo. Easily almost making the man jump out of his skin when he burst in, the doors slam echoing in the tiny room.

"Get you gun, let's go...Cobb took the fight to us." Ringo nodded and grabbed Lorne's shoulder as the man turned to leave. "Hey I have an old hunting rilfe and some ammo, you seem to have knowledge and beter skill with weapons. The man turned and tossed aside old tin cans, spare Nuka-Cola bottles, and empty boxes of Sugar Bombs and other snack treats. The old gun, covered in white dirty tape, came forth from the mess and Ringo handed it to a happy Lonre who also took the boxes of ammunition, stuffing them in his bag.

He and Ringo moved out of the building seeing a small crowd gathering with different weapons from tire irons to varmit rifles. It made him smile at their make-shift mob against the powder gangers. Trudy looked up to the two men as they rushed down the hill, Lorne with his rifle and Ringo with his pistol.

" 'Bout time you boys got here, looks like Cobb and his men just showed up to. Bad thing is while we were getting everyone around, they moved to take refuge up on the cemetary hill." Lorne looked up and scowled, something he remembered telling him that the high ground was much more adventageous for someone looking to deal with an enemy of larger numbers.

That thought made him blink...where the hell had that come from...it sounded way to specialized for just a normal person to discern. Racking the bolt of his rilfe, he decided that he would learn more about his past as soon as Cobb and his men were dead. Cobb hobbled out, his form showing out starkly against the sky.

"You have 5 seconds to hand over Ringo or we burn this town to the grou-" A loud whip that sounded like thunder tore across the air and Cobb's head snapped back violently. A splash of red mist filing the air as Cobbs mean began firing. Lorne grinned from behind the sights of his rifle which was propped on a tipped mototcyle's remains. Shutting an eye he looked back into the iron sights while screams and paniced shouts came from the towns folk. Those who didn't have long range weapons ran into their houses while those armed fired back.

Cobbs men were in disaray, without their fearless leader they were picked off one by one like sheep to the slaughter. Stil the men tried to fight calling out evil sneers and as bullets tore up tuffs of dirt. Lorne shouted as one grazed past his cheek throughly pissing him off.

"I am not getting shot twice in the head!" he snarled standing from his cover and racking off shots that peppered the remaning two men and caused their bodies to slump uncerimoniously to the ground. Once the gunfire ceased the townsfolk crawled from their hiding places or shooting positions and looked at each other. Some laughed, others cried, some just stood stoicly observing the whole scene unfolding before them. Ringo hugged Sunny and both jumped and cheered, blushing when they finally realsize how close they were to each other. With an embarassed cough they let each other go, turning to look at Lorne who just sat on the tipped motorcyle, resting his elbow on one knee, scratching a few lines into the butstock of the rilfe to mark his kills. He looked back up to them with a soft smile, noticeing the worry on their faces.

"Lorne...your bleeding.." He nodded and whipped his cheek but they shook their heads, it wasn't the graize mark they were reffering to. Lorne looked down and cursed, complertely forgetting about the wound that Cobb had left him with before the entire fight.

"Fuck..." he curse shoving his fingers into the wound to plug it while Trudy pushed through the group a stimpack in her hand. She grinned a bit and slammed the needle into the top of his thigh, earning a satisfying hiss and growl from the man. "The hell?" he said, tears pricking his eyes which he promply whipped away.

"It helps with the pain and healing," she said, using her knife to cut away his armor and bandage the wound. "At least he didn't nic any vitals," she said pressing her fingers onto the tapped gauze earning another very angry snarl from Lorne. Ringo and Trudy just chuckled, the rest of the townsfolk turning in for the night. "Come on.." Trudy said finally standing and helping Lorne to his feet, "You can sleep in the Saloon and I'll tell you a bit about the men who shot you tomorrow...how about that? Hot meal and a bed too."

Lorne nodded, suddenly feeling the fatigue and stress of the day hit his body hard. AS the group returned inside of the Saloon Cheyenne attacked Sunny with slobbery kisses and Ringo pulled Lorne aside.

"Hey, Thanks for everything...I know you could have thrown me to the wolves..but you didn't and I really appreciate that. Keep the hunting rilfe and this bit of caps..." He placed a large gingling bag in Lorne's hand. "I'm gonna be leaving after tongiht.."He said smiling and eyeing Sunny, Lorne laughed but it also made him feel a bit sick inside. He knew that he was going to be walking this road of vengence alone and all he wanted was someone by his side to comfort and love him.

Ringo patted his back, leading Sunny off to 'See the sights' of the town while Trudy readied Lorne a bed and some food in a spare room in the back. He smiled and collapsed into his seat, hearing the doorbell ring and he looked up. The man standing before him had a stren yet observant face. He had dark shaved black hair and dark chocolate brown eyes, his jaw was set but not clenched and as he moved into the bar and took a seat not to far from where Lorne was sitting. He man's frame covered in Mercenary armor was lean and muscular, making him look like a physical thunderstorm was happening everytime he flexed or moved.

Lorne shook his head, what they hell was he thinking, but the man had already noticed him staring and was looking back at him before he looked to Trudy and ordered a Nuka-Cola. His voice was icy and smooth like liquid mercury, with a sharp intonation that made him think the man was well versed in literature or customs. Suddenly Lorne looked back up from the table he was idling at feeling eyes pricking into the side of his skull.

"Can I help you?" He asked but the man just ran his eyes over him inspecting him, and judging him.

"You are not like the other specimins here." he commented in a low voice that Lorne had to strain to hear. "Most are just simpletons that waste away their lives on boose and psycho...but you almost look as though you were in Cea-..." the man abrupbtly stopped himself and turned back to the bar, sipping on his drink and ordering a plate of food. Lorne starred at the man, who was he and why the hell was he staring so intently at him?

A/N #2- So for all those hungering after Lorne getting his lover...question for you. Should he be Uke or Seme? I can make him be both very well and I'm just interested in feedback. Btw, I tried to include some dark and evil while light and happy aspects to his morality and moral choices...he's not gonna be all good but I'm not sure how bad he'll be come...*snickers* we'll see how much he becomes tainted. :D


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